


Run

by Melzious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, implied rape but only for one line, narcissa and draco deserved better and im going to give them that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melzious/pseuds/Melzious
Summary: Run by Daughtersong fic that is Narcissa centric
Kudos: 1





	Run

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that this is unedited

She didn’t know whether the first nights were the worst or the best. Should she savor the first night she had someone turn their back to her, roll it under her tongue as if it were a foul candy. Or should she push them aside, aside into the endless mound. All the nights ran together, blending seamlessly but not harmlessly. Her blood ran cold at the trepidation of sleeping next to someone not of her own blood. But in a way, wasn’t he? Both their blood trickled with ice down their veins.

During the courting phase, she always dolled herself up. She curled her blonde hair, once so long and glamorous that evoked envy of much younger girls who could never achieve such vibrance. How much of that was lost. As the matrimony to man whose name owned wealth and nobility. Oh what a sight, what a sight. She shimmered far more precious than any veela on that day. Though she trembled, the sight of her raven haired sister, with her stark contrast of looks, sent warmth through her skin. Though her face did not radiate joy, her sister’s radiated pride and that was enough for her. It was enough for her. But all too soon, that was ripped away from her. Everything was. Now all she could turn too was him.

While I powder my nose

She did not even bother to look beautiful anymore. She was becoming an animal, an animal of habits and habits make for dull minds. Dull, she scoffed softly. Dull was a word true and worthy enough. It fit like the silk clothes that suffocated her under pearly bracelets. 

And if I try to get close

It was harrowing trying to get the man she called her husband to open up. She did not even need him to say a word to her, much less lay hands on her. His demeanor was enough to repel her. On the second day, she went to entwine her fingers through her hair, a sentiment her former sister and...stolen...taken....lost sister used to do in the mornings that they shared on blankets under makeshift forts. It was within the memories of those days that she only felt strength in her chest. Asphyxia seemed all too close. Her hands feel on indented sheets that lacked the warmth of a body.

He is already gone

She never knew where he went during the night or mornings, only that he was present for meals and to see her to rest.

Don’t know where he’s going

Don’t know where he’s gone

If she did not care to investigate, to know, did that make her a horrible wife. Was she unworthy of everything that’s been given to her.  
In the nights he stayed, he was restless. Terrors plagued him in the night; she could see the primal fear in his eyes, fear that remained during the day, swirling tide pools in faded green. She could say nothing. What would she? Why would she? He had made no effort to get to know her, to comfort her when her sister was sent far beyond her reach, to a hell she could not even begin to imagine.

So we lay in the dark,

We've got nothing to say

Her breaths were not heard, nor were his, for they were held, bated. The only sound amidst their stiff bodies were two heartbeats, two drums in the grey.

After all the cold, she could feel a fire envelop her body, whether it was arising from inside her or outside her, she did not know. All she knew was she wanted to get far away, far away from his feverish touch that left invisible boils on her skin. She felt no aching for him, nor him for her. She was just to be used, a doll for a distraction that gives off warmth. He saw not her skin, not her eyes, not her hair, not her face. She was a plain doll. The first night the best she could do was leave claw marks down his back. There was no comment made about the injuries she gifted to him as if they were trophies. There was no comment about the night made at all. The next night she tore out a strand of his ashen hair. She kept it under her pillow as a morbid keepsake, a reminder that she once had fight in her. The third night she pushed him away from her harshly, with vindication. Pink turning darker was clear against her pale complexion.

When she knew there was another heartbeat inside of her, she grew horrified. She wanted to drown it, drown herself if she had to in order to rid the world of the monster that was growing in her. She wanted to 

Run

Run

Where would she go? Her heartstrings knotted together. She thought she had lost everything when her raven haired sister was restrained and locked far away. But she had not. She still had another sister. Disowned, but not forgotten. As much as she swore she smothered any remaining feelings but disgust for her sister, she could not lie to herself any more. Not now.

The ink spilled from her quill, but did not form any words. She could not tell her sister how she felt about her husband, about how she feared him, perhaps more than the fallen man everyone else feared. She could not tell her mother either. She could however, say the words that longed to shed the tethers that had tied them deep. On a small piece of parchment in the color of night, though the words sparkled as if that night held the the star Polaris she wrote, “Do you still love me?”

She got no response and it ate at her, then gnawed, then devoured any sliver of positivity she had left. As the time drew nearer, her husband became more withdrawn and distant. For this, she was relieved. That bastard won’t come near here.

She thought she was alone when she started to deliver the child. Though this was soon disproven when a warm hand entwined with hers. Through eyes stained with tears, she saw a portrait of a woman who had lost some of her girlish beauty, though she still shone like a beacon, a lighthouse for her wayward ship. Mousy hair fell across the woman’s face; it tickled blonde hair. That was their proximity. Even through her pain, she couldn’t help but think that they formed a pair, like children dancing through the woods.

Time fell upon them, relinquishing the pain that captured the blonde women sluggish movements. As she held the squirming child in her arms, her eyes sparkled like pools of crystalline water reflecting city lights. In a faint whisper that held more conviction than she had ever spoken, “Will you stay with me my love?”

These words were directed to her sister and to her newborn son. Her sister entwined her fingers through a strand of her snarled hair. She pulled a strand of silver from the embroidery on her robes, then took a strong strand of her hair. Braiding them together, she formed a ring. Lifting a weak pink finger into her right hand, with her left she placed the makeshift ring onto her sister’s finger. It was dull and inconspicuous, small. Her sister smiled, for she knew that the world was woven from small meanings and heartfelt deeds, rather than riches. In that moment, she finally knew what her sister never thought blood mattered. Though she did not understand it, she would savor this one and perhaps only one moment that she appreciated.

I don’t want to be alone when I’m in this state

Because it’s the best I’ve ever felt. I want to run with you.

The two sisters pressed against each other. This would most likely be the last day they would set eyes upon each other. They were from two separate worlds and they would ruin each other. As a parting gift, they let their word meld together and in a symphony they named the newborn boy, “Draco”.

And as long as Narcissa Malfoy’s son held that name, she wouldn’t be alone, not even when her bones decayed.


End file.
